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Heiji lets out a stuttered exhale as he flops onto the sofa, lying sideways, one leg over the arm of the sofa and the other leg dangling below. He drapes an arm over his eyes, letting the other lie across his torso.
And he
breathes.
He closes his eyes, sinks into the darkness. Drown out the sound, any noise. Keep his heart beating. Not too fast, not too slow, just beating (it’s too fast too fast too fast). Don’t think about today. Focus on the darkness around him, on his beating heart, on his (too shallow, too fast) breathing. Try to forget today.
Don’t think about it.
Just breathe. In through the nose for
one,
two,
three,
four.
Hold for
five,
six,
seven,
eight,
nine.
And out the mouth for
ten,
eleven,
twelve,
thirteen,
fourteen,
fifteen.
Then repeat. He doesn’t allow himself to stop, tries to keep his breathing in control. Inhale for four, hold for five, then exhale for six. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.
Faintly, through the noise in his head, he hears soft whispers. No, it’s a hum. Someone is humming above him, soft enough not to disturb his carefully controlled breathing, and loud enough to keep rhythm with him. With his beating heart, no longer racing like rabbits. With his steady breathing.
The noise in his head quietens enough for him to discern the hum, to translate the sound into a song and find the lyrics. It’s repeating. It’s so familiar…
Marutake Ebisu ni Oshioike
Yome-san rokkaku tako nishiki
Ah yes… the temari song, from Kyoto. Without ceasing his breathing control, he slowly and tentatively raises his arm from his head. He blinks open his eyes to look up, squints past the sudden bright light to see the darkened figure and–
Shiaya buttaka matsu man gojō
Setta chara-chara uo no tana
Kazuha. It’s Kazuha, and she’s sitting on the arm of the sofa, just above his head. Heiji had been too focused on his breathing and the darkness to hear and feel her. She’d come and sit with him without his notice. How long she’d been sitting above him, he doesn’t know.
He doesn’t even know how long he’d been lying there, on the sofa. Has it been five minutes? Half an hour? One hour? He’s too exhausted to crane his neck to look for the wall clock behind him. And he wouldn’t know, anyway. He doesn’t remember at what time he’d arrived home, he doesn’t even remember how he came to be here from the police station. Did he ride his motorcycle home? Had he gone by train? Or had Ohtaki-han given him a lift home? He doesn’t know at all, and he cannot spare the energy to deduce it.
But Kazuha. She has her eyes closed and continues to hum.
Rokujō hitchō tōrisugi
Her humming along with the sound of his breaths, it’s soothing. So soothing that he almost wants to cry.
Hatchō koereba tōji-michi
Kujō-ōji de todomesassu
Heiji deliberates for a second then decides to raise his other arm, the one that’d been lying across his stomach, in order to reach for Kazuha’s hand lying on her own lap. He places his hand on top of Kazuha’s and she– she stutters to a stop, instantly opens her eyes and looks down at him. And he, he just looks up at her with tired and blurry eyes and says, no, whispers–
“Don’t stop.”
Kazuha blinks in surprise, mouth opens in a small ‘o’ for a moment as she stares at him. Her cheeks are flushing slightly but still no less surprised. Then her eyes soften and she says in a soft voice, “Heiji…”
He squeezes her hand slightly. He doesn’t want to talk about it. At least not right now.
She looks at him, really looks at him, for a long moment. And then she gives a nod, adjusts her body so that she’s sitting more comfortably on the armrest, twists her wrist so as to press her palm to Heiji’s and squeezes his hand tightly enough to give pressure. Just enough to remind him of her existence. Closing her eyes, she opens her mouth and, rather than hum, she sings softly.
Utsumuku sono senaka ni
Itai ame wa tsukisasaru
Inoru omoide mite ita
It’s a completely different song, but no less suitable to match in tune with Heiji’s own breathing, which… was not as steady as he’d been doing. Somewhere, in between his holding Kazuha’s hand and her singing, he’d forgotten to control his breathing. He’d have to rectify it.
And so he breathes again. In for four, hold for five, and out for six. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. All the while he’s listening to Kazuha’s voice, focusing on it instead of the darkness. He lets her voice wash over his mind, letting it take over. To wash away the darkness and the memory. It’s kind of soothing.
Kono yo ni moshimo kasa ga
Tatta hitotsu da to shite mo
Sagashite kimi ni watasu yo
And so they stay like this for what feels like a long time.
Moments later, when Heiji doesn’t feel like he needs to hide in a closet or to punch someone, he opens his eyes and takes in the sight of Kazuha still singing softly. She’s never left his side nor has she complained about sitting on the arm of the sofa this whole time, it must be digging uncomfortably into the backs of her upper legs. She’s never even stopped nor paused her singing. She may need water soon.
Heiji smiles fondly at her, sitting above him. He breathes one more time and gives her hand a squeeze, then, with a quiet groan, raises his upper body to sit on the sofa.
Her singing voice tapers off, the lyrics thinning until they stop on a final note. She opens her eyes, looks at him and– doesn't say anything. She only moves off the arm to sit properly on the sofa. She hesitates briefly. Then, slowly, with purpose, she lays her hand onto his, adjusting until their palms press together. She threads their fingers together. He doesn’t stop her nor does he pull away. Instead, he leans his head to the side, to land lightly on top of hers. They stay quiet for moments longer.
He kind of wants to stay with her like this, for longer.
Eventually, he opens his eyes and says, “Kazu–” He stops. Clears his throat and– can’t dredge up another sound. His voice is uncooperative.
Kazuha lifts her head, looks at him for a moment, and offers a soft smile. “Would ya like hot cocoa?” she whispers, not unkindly.
That– yeah, that sounds like a good idea. He would actually like that, so he nods.
She carefully stands up, letting her hand slide from his, and walks into the kitchen. Heiji hears the clink of a kettle being set down, and cups settling on the counter. There’s a long wait while the kettle boils. And he’s–
He’s breathing.
He feels his hands brushing across the fabric of the sofa. The room smells faintly of dust, steaming water, and her perfume. The weight of his body is settling comfortably into the cushions. His winter coat hangs heavy on him, too warm now. He shifts, shrugs it off, and drapes it over the back of the sofa, a little away from himself. He closes his eyes and listens.
Kazuha is humming again, though faintly. Heiji smiles fondly despite himself.
Moments later the kettle lets out a soft hiss as it finishes boiling, then comes the quiet clink of a teaspoon stirring inside the cups. Then– soft footsteps, drawing closer. He blinks open his eyes and sees Kazuha walking towards him, both hands holding steaming mugs.
She pauses, tilts her head slightly, and smiles while lifting the mugs a little higher. She motions with her head towards something off to the side, then glances back at him, her expression questioning. Do ya want ta…? her eyes ask.
Heiji blinks in confusion and glances across the room. Ah. The kotatsu. He looks back at her, considers it for only a second then nods.
She smiles again and turns towards the table. He rises slowly from the sofa, pauses to let the brief dizziness pass, and then follows her.
The kotatsu is already warm. Kazuha sets the mugs down on the table first, careful, and then lifts the blanket enough for him to slide in. He does so, slowly, and crosses his legs under. Kazuha lets go of the blanket. Heiji then tucks it around his waist. The heat wraps around him, like it’s coming alive.
He exhales without meaning to.
Kazuha then follows after, tucking herself in across from him. She nudges with her fingers at one of the mugs, sliding it towards him. The steam curls lazily into the air.
“Careful,” she murmurs. “It’s hot.”
He nods his thanks, wraps his fingers around the mug. The heat sinks into his palms – hot, but not too hot – as he cradles it closer to himself. For a moment they sit there. The quiet hum of the heater underneath the table, the soft clinking of the mug as he shifts it, and the steady sound of both of them breathing.
“This helps,” he finally breathes into his mug. His voice is rough, but it holds.
Kazuha doesn’t pretend not to know what he means. She only smiles, small and soft. “I thought it might,” she says.
He takes a cautious sip. Sweet. Familiar. He lets out a quiet huff that almost sounds like a laugh.
“Too sweet?” she asks.
“No,” he says immediately. A beat, then, “It’s… good.”
She gives a satisfied hum, sipping her own mug. She leans back slightly, rests a hand near his on the table– not touching, but close enough that he feels the option.
The silence that follows is comfortable. Not awkward.
After a few moments, he says, more to the steaming mug than to her, “I didn’t mean ta worry ya.”
She tilts her head, glancing at him from the rim of her own mug. “I know.”
The weight shifts, no longer pressing down on his chest. He feels a little lighter. He’s glad for it.
He drinks a few more sips, then winces slightly. He tries to hide it, but Kazuha notices immediately. Of course she does.
“Too sweet it is,” she states, amusement creeping into her tone.
He huffs. “I didn’t say dat.”
“Ya didn’t have ta.” She smiles into her mug.
He raises an eyebrow at her, takes another sip, then mutters, “Ya put more honey in dis than usual.”
“Yup,” she says. “I did. Ya looked like ya needed it.”
He shoots her a look. “Oi.”
She meets it, utterly unrepentant.
“... it’s still good,” he adds after a moment, quietly.
Her smile softens, but she doesn’t comment on that either.
They sit like that for a bit longer, tucked under the kotatsu. The warmth wraps their legs, sinking in deep. Heiji’s shoulders loosen.
Kazuha nudges his foot slightly under the table, almost playfully.
He glances up. “What.”
“Ya’re hoggin’ all de heat,” she says.
He huffs. “That’s not how it works.”
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
Kazuha gives him a look that says I coulda do dis all night. He returns it, stubborn and unyielding. Ya forget who ya’re dealin’ with.
Kazuha then relents and gives a relieved smile. “Ya’re feelin’ better,” she says. Not a question.
He pauses, then shrugs, a little sheepish. “Yea. I guess.”
“Dat’s good,” she says, and then doesn’t add more.
They let the silence linger longer. Heiji glances down at his reflection in the cocoa– brown, muddy, distorted. He stares into it and he–
He remembers.
“I…” His voice is quiet, low, so unlike him. But if he doesn’t say something, if he represses it for too long, then he feels he might lose something important. He cannot afford to let it slip from his fingers. So he forges on, “Somethin’ happened today.”
Kazuha hums softly in response. She says nothing, letting him speak freely.
“I was jus’ hangin’ out wit’ Tanaka today – he’s from de kendo club,” he adds at Kazuha’s brief noise of confusion, to which she goes “Ah” at. He then continues, “We were gettin’ him a new kote, ‘cause his old one was frayed at de edges. We’d jus’ finished with dat business an’ got outta de shop when–” he stops, clears his throat roughly, and tries, “dis car thin’ happened. I dunno what happened, if I gotta be honest, it happened too fast. I jus’ know one o’ da tires blew, de car wobbled, hit de curb and jus’ flipped onto its side.”
He hears a faint gasp of shock from her and forges on, “Everyone got out okay, just got scabs an’ bruises an’ all. De ambulance arrived quickly.”
Heiji glances up, sees Kazuha’s relieved expression, then looks back down at his cocoa.
He sips it, then cradles the mug with both hands, stealing what warmth he can.
From the corner of his eyes, he sees Kazuha lean forward and, slowly, tentatively places her hand over his.
He clears his throat again.
“It was no accident,” he says quietly. “De blown tire– it was too deliberate. I knew it was an attempted murder.”
He hears her gasp.
“Dey’re fine,” he quickly adds. “I promise. It won’t happen again. I caught de culprit before dey got away.”
A relieved sigh.
And he–
He says no more. There’s a lump in his throat.
Kazuha tightens her grip over his. “What happened?” she asks in a soft and neutral tone. She doesn’t demand an answer– only offers him a guide.
He inhales, holds, and exhales just once. Just enough to ground himself.
“De car,” he says. “One o’ dem… dere was a kid. Barely over eight.”
He hears her draw in a sharp breath.
“Dey’re fine,” he reassures again, more to himself than to her. She relaxes slightly. “No lingering injuries. De ambulance crew treated dem, said dey’d be okay. It’s jus’...”
He takes in a shuddered breath. “Jus’ dat… jus’ fo’ a moment, I thought dey looked like… him. Like Ku–” He stops, swallows. Tries again. “Like K–Co… Conan. I thought it was Conan dere, jus’ fo’ a moment. And I–”
He stops again. Swallows once more.
“Oh, Heiji…” she whispers, her voice wobbling.
Fuck.
There’s pinpricks in his eyes. He closes his eyes tightly, grits his teeth. He can’t keep the memory away any longer.
Blood. So much blood on the kid’s head. It was a superficial wound, he knows it was, it won’t even leave a scar. The paramedics even said so. But…
What if it was–
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The pulse in his chest is growing, dragging him toward the edge.
He takes in another shuddered breath, holds, and exhales. And does it again. And thrice.
Dammit.
Kazuha’s hold over his hand tightens again, reminding him of her existence. He lets that hand go of the mug, turns his wrist, and presses his palm against hers.
“Heiji…” Kazuha murmurs softly, soothing. “Hey, it’s okay. Conan-kun’s okay. Just breathe.”
He follows her voice, letting it guide his breathing. In, hold, out.
“Can I come to you?” she asks quietly.
He nods, almost desperately.
There’s a rustle as Kazuha gets out from under the kotatsu, goes around it to sit next to him. She never lets go of his hand, merely shifts so that their palms rest at his side rather than on the table. A free hand lands lightly on his shoulder, the one farthest from her. It lingers there. And then, slowly and gently, pulls it towards herself, shifting his body so that he faces her before she–
She embraces him.
Presses herself close to his front, tenderly. She whispers reassurances to his ear, in a soothing voice. There’s a faint catch in her voice, a hiccup of worry she doesn’t quite hide, and yet… she’s here, with him.
“Shh, shh… it’s okay. Conan-kun’s okay, I promise. Everything’s okay, just breathe with me. Shh, shh…”
He immediately raises his free arm, wrapping it around her. His fingers clutch the fabric of her back. His head rests on her shoulder, burying his face into her neck, hiding from the world. He hugs her closer, desperately, trying to anchor himself in her warmth.
He tries to match her breathing. In. Hold. Out.
He feels her hand move up to thread fingers through the back of his hair. He burrows deeper into her neck, the part that meets her shoulder. He doesn’t shed tears, but it– it’s close.
They stay like this for a long time.
Eventually, after he gets his breath under control, he lets go of the fabric. He still holds onto her hand. That one, he doesn’t want to let go of. Yet.
Feeling him finally shift, she lets him go and leans back to look at him. And she’s– there are tear tracks leading down her cheeks, and her eyes are a little rimmed with red. With his free hand, he brushes the tears away and places it on her cheek. Heiji leans forward to press his forehead to hers.
“Ya good?” he asks. Well, it’s a stupid question, but–
She chuckles softly, reaches her hand up to brush against his dry eye. “Dat’s my line.”
“Yea’,” he says. A beat passes, then, “Thanks.”
She hums in response. And then she leans slightly back and says in a carefree tone, slightly forced, “So.”
“So,” he repeats.
“I have a plan.”
He blinks in slight confusion. “Plan?”
“Yup,” she says and turns to the table. She picks his mug up and offers it to him. “Here’s what we’re goin’ ta do.”
“Hm?” he hums questioningly as he accepts it.
She picks up her own mug and clinks their rims together. “We’re going ta finish our cocoa.” She gestures at her mug, then smiles at him. “And den we’re going ta buy a last-minute plane ticket ta Tokyo. We’re goin’ ta find Ran-chan and Conan-kun, and den we’re going to take dem out ta a cafe somewhere. Or wherever we like.” She then tilts her head, a little mischievous. “How’s dat sound?”
He blinks at her in befuddlement. A moment passes. And then–
He huffs, lets out a short chuckle, and smiles at her in relief. “Yeah.”
And so they clink their rims together again and sip the cocoa. Heiji twitches a little. It’s gone lukewarm. Still too sweet.
Kazuha notices it again. Probably because she’s experiencing the same taste, if her carefully controlled expression is anything to go by.
She grins at him despite it. “Too sweet?” she asks for the third time today, likely aiming to annoy him, just for the fun of it.
He snorts. “Shuddup.”
She giggles in response.
He sips it anyway, no longer caring. Yep, still too sweet.
But, he thinks, leaning back a bit, her hand warm in his. He gives it a small squeeze, just to remind himself, and she returns it. The kotatsu still gives warmth, the blanket covering his knees as they lean against Kazuha’s. Heiji breathes in, holds, lets it out, and he– he finally relaxes. He smiles against the rim of his mug.
It ain’t dat bad.